


Dancing barefoot

by Velveticafields



Category: Carry On Series - Rainbow Rowell
Genre: Character Development?, Domestic Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch/Simon Snow, F/F, F/M, Fluffy Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch/Simon Snow, I love Simon Snow, M/M, Magic, Magical Artifacts, Magical Rituals, Mordelia Grimm - Freeform, Mordelia in America, Mordelia is older, Plot What Plot, Post-Book 2: Wayward Son, Post-Watford (Simon Snow), Simon's wings are magic, Women Being Awesome, barely anything happens, numpties
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-13
Updated: 2020-04-29
Packaged: 2021-02-27 10:49:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 9,224
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22245865
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Velveticafields/pseuds/Velveticafields
Summary: Mordelia Grimm is a magical archivist on assignment in North Carolina. She gets hoodwinked by local mages. She meets a Shepard.
Relationships: Mordelia Grimm & Simon Snow, Mordelia Grimm & Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch, Mordelia Grimm and Maggie Shepard, Mordelia Grimm/Original Female Character(s), Penelope Bunce & Simon Snow, Penelope Bunce/Shepard, Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch/Simon Snow
Comments: 12
Kudos: 61





	1. We’re all fools

**Author's Note:**

> Title is from the song by Patti Smith.

I’ve found kids drinking out here plenty of times, but I’ve never found a naked woman.

She’s got bones around her neck, like a bone necklace, and she’s stretching her arms up to the moon. It’s full. (Of course.) She’s howling, yipping, like a wolf. I think she’s dancing. She’s not very good.

If it wasn’t so strange it’d be kind of funny. (It’s still pretty funny.) I don’t know how to interrupt her. I play with waving my hands silently in my mind, but I think that would look like I want to join in and I really don’t.

I can’t think of how to get her attention so I’m just watching her. She’s got mud caked on her feet. She must be freezing. I make a move toward her and cough.

She stops slowly. Like she can’t be bothered with me. Did she know I was here the whole time?

“Yes?” She asks.

“Uh, Miss. I’m sorry to bother you.” Why am I sorry? “But, people aren’t allowed in the forest after dusk ... and clothing isn’t usually optional around here. So. You, you know. Could you?”

She just blinks at me like she can’t believe I’m speaking to her. She looks at my forest ranger uniform and obviously turns her nose slightly up. You’re naked, don’t sneer at me, I want to say. But I don’t.

I just knock my boot tip into the hard dirt and try to impart authority. (Does this look authoritative?)

“Baz was right on about this place. Not worth the trip. Not worth the time.”

“Baz?” I ask.

She doesn’t answer. She spins around once more, looking into the dark of the forest, then at the small campfire, and finally she looks down at the bone necklace and huffs. “Sodding liars. The lot of them.”

“Who?” I’m lost. Does she mean this Baz person is a liar? Are there more people out there dancing at their own fires?

She doesn’t answer me but instead moves toward a pile of stuff and bends down. I try not to look. (I look up. Stars are nice.)

When I glance back she has put on a ratty t-shirt and some jeans. I shiver for her. It’s not snowing but there’s a wet chill to the air, like it could start.

I thank the universe she’s putting something on at least. I don’t need a hypothermic naked person to deal with. At least I just have to deal with a crazy clothed person now. Because she is crazy, right? Who comes out to the middle of nowhere to dance naked?

Fuck, she better not be a cultist. I have no time for those. I hope she doesn’t have a weapon. This is beyond my job description.

She laces up a worn pair of boots. No socks. I shiver again. She doesn’t put a coat on either but she wraps a scarf around her neck and puts a beanie over her head.

She turns around and pushes a hand at me to shake. “Mordelia Grimm,” she says.

* * *

**One week earlier**

**Mordelia**

I knock on the door three times. Loudly. I kick it for good measure and then I put my key in the lock and give it a turn. I put a hand over my eyes as I open the door.

“Pants better be on this time,” I yell with my hand firmly over my eyes.

“Morbid!” I hear from across the flat, near the kitchen, of course.

“Snow. Are you clothed?” I ask, hand still over my eyes, trying to make my way through the hall. I bump into something.

“It was one time Morbid. Once. In nearly twenty years, can’t I get a ‘good on you,’ for that and we quietly move past this?”

“Never. And it was twice. In a month. I’ll never unsee it and thus you will never forget it.”

I feel hands on my shoulders and they’re peeling away my hand-eye protector and I’m looking straight at Simon Snow’s ruddy smiling face.

He has clothes on. Praise Lilith.

“Snow.” I nod my head. “I see you are starting to understand common decency.”

“Don’t call me that,” he says dragging me into a hug and squeezing me tightly. He smells like bread. “My common decency only applies outside of my flat.”

I lean back from him and give him a once over.

“I’ll never understand what my brother sees in you.”

“It’s my brill personality.”

“Don’t say: ‘it’s my personality,’ that’s a lie.” Comes from the next room.

Simon huffs and settles me into a chair. “He just won’t admit it,” he says, placing a cuppa in front of me without my asking. “Biscuit?” I nod and he puts a few on a plate and then a few in his mouth for good measure. He leans against the island as I eat. “Just last night...”

“No,” I interrupt. “I don’t want to hear about what you and my brother get up to at night. I’ve seen enough, heard enough. The therapy I’ll require from this. Endless. I’ll bill you.”

He laughs and I can tell he’s reliving something. It’s all across his face. His eyes are shiny.

“Stop it.” I say, giving his arm a shove.

“Are you scarring more members of my family?” Baz asks as he walks into the kitchen. “We’ve talked about this Snow, you’re only allowed to scar my father, and only on holidays.”

He places a kiss to Simon’s head. He ruffles my hair and refills his teacup. He leans across the counter toward me and lifts an eyebrow.

Ever the conversationalist.

I lift my own dark brow in response. (He taught me how.) His face holds for a moment but then he smiles and I can see his incisors just a little. I look at his teacup and it’s bright red with blood. There’s little leaves floating in it too.

“Snow has been experimenting with steeping things in it. To improve the flavor or something.” He answers before I can even ask. “This is lavender and mint.”

Simon nods and puts another biscuit in his mouth. He swallows it, barely chewing and goes for a fifth.

“How is it?” I’m not exactly curious but it’s polite. I need to be polite today.

“Serviceable.” He sips from his cup again.

Simon has the biggest smile on his face at that single word. His eyes have gone so crinkly.

Baz looks at him and doesn’t exactly smile back but there’s something under the surface of him that’s just as content. There’s this light that he carries around now, that shines out of his pores or something. He never used to be that way. Not before.

He changed after Simon came for Christmas nearly two decades ago. I barely remember it but I remember the following one when Simon and Baz came to the new estate together, holding hands and carrying gifts signed, From: Basil and Simon.

Father had puppies. A whole litter of them. Aunt Fiona drank a bottle of whiskey and sang a Talking Heads song.

She kept saying how if only Nat could see her boy, she’d be so proud. The third time she said that, Father finally stopped hyperventilating. By the end of dinner he had stopped trying to convince Baz to keep Simon on the side and marry someone respectable and female.

Simon’s been a constant figure ever since.

I know they had a few rough patches over the years and I know I’m about to scratch at one.

“I’ve been assigned a case in America, I was hoping you could give me some insights.” Simon’s smile fades out and gets smaller, it doesn’t fade away, but it just shrinks.

Baz drinks the rest of his cup of blood and sets it in the sink.

“What do you want to know Morbid?” Simon asks. He doesn’t let me answer, just continuous quickly: “You know you might be better off speaking to Shepard. If you can get him.”

I shake my head: “Already tried Penny’s mobile, they must be out of range.”

He deflates, but perks up noticeably when Baz puts a hand around him and rubs at his back.

“Where are you going?” Baz asks.

”Some place in North Carolina.”

“We didn’t go there. Not sure how much help we’ll be.”

“I just need the basics. I don’t want to… open up anything but, I could use some insider information about what to expect. ... about the dead zones. ... You know?”

They both look at each other and then at me.

“You aren’t opening anything up.” Simon answers finally. “America wasn’t an altogether bad time.”

Baz snorts delicately, if that’s at all possible. I don’t understand his grace or where he got it from. I’m a monster, I tear through a room. He floats. It must be the vampirism. (Ironic that.)

“It wasn't an altogether good time either,” Simon finishes. “What do you want to know?”


	2. I’m a fool

**Mordelia**

  
The woman is looking at my outstretched hand but not taking it and, yeah, I get it. Probably not a normal night for her. 

It’s not a normal night for me either. I’ve got my own problems but I’m still here with my hand out. Trying to be proper. 

I wave my hand around in front of her. (The height of propriety.)

“What kind of name is Mordelia?” She asks.

What. An. Imbecile. 

She doesn’t even apologize for interrupting my spell (not that she knows it was a spell) or refusing my hand.

“Family name.” I’ve given up my hand waving and taken it back now. I’m twisting the gold cuff on my arm as I think of a good memory wipe spell instead.

 _Head like a sieve,_ maybe. Memory spells are tricky. 

I don’t want to leave her having forgotten her own name. 

“And yours?” I ask so as to quiz her later, after I wipe her memory.

“Maggie Shepard.”

Coincidence? Shepard is a common name.

“Do you know any Nebraska Shepard’s?”

I just can’t help myself. If she's a Shepard, one of the ones, then I can skip the memory spell and be on my way.

“How? … Why?”

“So, you do?”

I pour some water over the fire and grab the rest of my supplies. My fingers are numb and I’m fucking starving. Maybe this Shepard will feed me. 

“Maybe.”

“That’s a yes.” I say and start walking back toward the parking lot. 

She follows quick behind me.

“Are you...are you a. You know?” 

I shake my head: “I don’t know.”

She glares at me and grabs onto my arm to stop me.

“A mage,” she says sticking her chin out. (It’s a good chin.)

“Thank, Merlin.” I sigh. “My luck is turning around. A Shepard. Are you a sister, cousin, a very young great aunt?”

Her mouth keep opening and closing. Like a fish. (She’s a cute fish.) She’s got these huge eyes and clear skin. Her teeth are perfect. It’s hard to look away from, but I do.

I give her a moment. To process.

“Do you know of somewhere we can get some food?” I ask after two seconds of silence. (That’s enough time, right?) “I’m starving. Those sad sack mages didn’t feed me anything before dropping me out here. They just left me with two bags of something called beef jerky. I don’t know, it’s fine, but I could use something hot.”

She’s still doing that mouth opening thing.

I’ll give her another minute.

Simon told me to be patient with people here. Especially the normals. Not too bright, he said. (Rich, coming from him but solid information so far.)

My taxi driver from the airport actually tried to steal my luggage. Luckily, I’d spelled it to follow me, so it jumped out of the boot as he sped away.

It came around to the front of the cab and wagged a finger at him before flying back toward me and landing at my side. 

That was only the start.

I was really only supposed to be here for three days. It’s been nearly five and I’ve got nothing to show for it. 

My boss keeps calling asking for an update. Soon, I won’t be able to dodge his calls. He’ll start sending me physical mail. The kind that grows a beak and pecks at you until you read it.

But, the problem isn't me or even the assignment. I plan to tell him just that, the next time he calls. ”It's not me, I swear, ” I’ll say. “It’s this country. These people. Mortals, mages, and magical beings. All of them are shit here.”

He’ll understand. (I hope.)

I found the right group of mages too, luckily, and I asked them for the rain spell very nicely.

I explained why I needed it and for what purposes it would be used. I tried giving them money and I tried trading them a spell in return. 

That last I thought did it. I gave them an invisibility spell I’d learned in my first year as a magical archivist. It's a good spell. No side effects. They lapped it up. And then lied to my fucking face.

They're not called a coven here, too informal, for that title. But one of the leaders, this arrogant little cabbage head, seemed so sincere when he told me that I needed to strip naked, dance under the moon, and wear this ancient bone necklace. (Ancient my ass.) It’s plastic, I'm almost sure of it.

I should have known better when there weren't any words in the spell, just sounds.

”Howl, like a wolf, ” he said and I believed him!

Who am I? I'll never be able to face my family ever again. Baz will light me on fire. They’ll take away the Grimm name from me. I'll never be able to go home. I'm going to be stuck in this horrible country forever. 

”I've lost the plot here, ” I say out loud. ”I've completely gone off.”

Maggie nods next to me. She's shut her mouth finally.

”There’s a diner down the road, ” she says finally. ”Shall we?”

* * *

**  
Simon**

“Do you think she’s doing alright?” 

I’m leaning into Baz’s shoulder as he reads in bed.

I tried to read a comic, but I couldn't focus. So, I’ve just been letting my mind wander for the last few minutes. It wandered to a dark place, as it does, occasionally.

I let it linger there in the darkness. If I push it too hard to get out, I’ll be stuck there. I just try to let it sit with me, settle into me. My thoughts, even anxious ones, aren’t so bad when I’m not fighting them. It took me so long to stop fighting them. 

You should have been born with a sword for an arm, Baz says sometimes, when he's being soft. 

I am all fight. But it would seem that it's hard to fight yourself mentally, exhausting really.

It took me years to learn that.

”She’ll be fine.” 

Baz has stopped reading and he has a finger marking his place. He’s looking at me. Really at me. Like he’s inside my head with me. I bump against his shoulder. He kisses my hair and brushes back a few curls. He kisses my forehead.

”She’s a Grimm,” he continues. “She’ll ring if she needs us.”

I nod against his shoulder and let those words wash over me as he goes back to his book. 


	3. Lucky fools

**Baz**

I’m worried about Mordelia. She hasn’t called in two days and she swore that she’d check in everyday.

Who knows what that country is doing to her.

I try not to reveal to Snow how nervous I am for her. He’s got his own nerves to deal with, but when I still haven’t heard anything by Thursday night I broach the topic with him at dinner.

I made an oath never to return to that place. That horrible place. But I’ve got this nagging feeling in my gut that Mordelia needs us and I feel like I must. That we should go to America again, for a second rescue.

“Should we go on holiday early?” I ask.

He slaps the table and just nods his head. His eyes are gleaming. He shoves the rest of a meat pie in his mouth and goes looking for our luggage. He looks like he does before a fight. Chin out.

I don’t follow him. I eat the rest of my meal slowly while he faffs about in the other room.

I email Bunce and my father a short message including our travel plans. In case. In case that country sucks us dry and spits us out. Again.

I yell at Simon that the luggage is in the front closet still from our trip to Ireland a few months ago. I deposit our dishes in the sink and I pour a large drink and then a second for him. 

When I lean in the doorway of our room he’s shoveling shirts and socks into a duffle. I hand him the drink, swat him away and take over before he can ruin another of my silk shirts. 

He’s a menace to quality fabric.

I instruct him to go into the kitchen and make some snacks for our trip when he starts bouncing his knee so loudly that I can’t decide on the proper trousers to travel in.

He gets calm in the kitchen and so I coral him in there when I’m trying to do something precise or delicate. Like packing light. 

Aleister Crowley, he’s still as noisy as ever. He’s a mess. The cooking though, it makes up for it. 

Through trial and error, he figured out that he can add blood into chocolates, like a jelly, and it keeps my cravings satisfied while we’re on the move. 

He’s such a fucking genius. 

I tell him that all the time now. He nearly topples me when I say it. And if I say it in public, in front of people. He shines. It’s beautiful to see. He’ll smile at me in a toothy, cheeky way for the rest of the night and I know when we get home it’ll be all soft touches and whispered words. In those moments, it feels like the years together have been sucked away and we’re young again. 

I'm genuinely gobsmacked when I remember that we’ve been together for 20 years. 

It’s maddening to think about, that I’ve had Simon Snow for so long. For years. For decades. 

When we were younger and all I had were my nightly watch parties (where I watched him sleep and felt supremely creepy about it) I would have never believed we’d be a team one day. I nauseate myself sometimes, just thinking about how in love I am. Have been. Will likely always be.

Sometimes I’ll wake from a nightmare I can’t really remember to him wrapped around me and I feel the weight of everything in my chest. I still watch him sleep, but he’s so close now. He sleeps pressed against me. His tail is always wrapped around my leg. (He hides his wings almost always now, but he leaves the tail out when it’s just us.) 

It feels like magic to have Simon Snow wrapped around me. It feels like I’m the luckiest bloke alive (as alive as I am.) And it’s not just because the years have been criminally good to Simon Snow.

His shoulders are just as wide as ever but he’s gone softer around the middle. I lay on his stomach on nights when we watch telly together. He’s the best cushion I could ask for. His thighs too, are still as delectable as ever. But I’ve taught him what trousers fit him best, so they look even better.

He still wears those horrible tracky bottoms most of the time, but even those have grown on me.

The best part though, if I’m honest, is that I’ve got an in. I’m allowed in. He still goes dark on me, but it’s rarer, and he doesn’t push me away and fold into himself much anymore. He still folds in but he puts a hand out for me now too.

It took nearly a year of therapy for us to get there. Where he’d let me in. It was worth it. 

When I step into the kitchen and he’s bagging up a handful of chocolates and labeling them, “For Baz.” I let a smile slip across my face and thank everything and anything that’s listening for whatever luck I have that led me here.

* * *

**Mordelia**

The diner is just down the road.

It's just us, the cook and a young waitress.

Maggie and I both order pancakes and when they come out, I lick my lips. I’ve never been so happy to see food in my life. They’re dripping in butter and syrup. 

When I take a bite, I moan a little. The sound startles Maggie and I apologize. I’m not sure if I’ve ever been this chuffed over food. I’ll have to tell Simon when I see him. (I should check in soon. He worries.)

Maggie and I don’t really chat. We haven’t talked since the car when she asked if I wanted the heat higher. 

I keep expecting her to start shooting out questions but she doesn’t. She just eats her pancakes and tries to avoid my eyes. She’s very quiet. Tense. It’s irritating. 

I don’t say anything either. What is there to say? Nicks and Slicks, I want to go home.

  
  
  



	4. Together again

**Maggie**

I think Mordelia is waiting for me to offer her a place to sleep. I refuse.

I’ve fed her.

I’m done.

* * *

**Mordelia**

Maggie’s flat is big. It’s twice the size of mine and I think there’s an upstairs. It’s ridiculous. I’ve tried to snoop into her bits and bobs but she’s watching me like a hawk.

She gave me a brief tour. She showed me the toilet and the kitchen, where the water glasses are, but she didn’t show me upstairs.

She pointed me to the couch and then a closet.

She didn’t even say anything. Just gave an awkward wave and stomped up the stairs.

I don’t think she wants me here.

I go to the closet and pull out a few pillows and a blanket. The closet is huge. Everything here is huge. How do they take up all this space? This place (America) is stretched out. 

To be fair, the Grimm manor is an estate. We have a butler. But I haven’t lived there in a decade. Not really. I usually stayed with Baz on holidays and during the summers when I was away from Watford.

My flat now barely has room for a proper bed.

Baz is always telling me I should find a roommate. I hate living with people. 

I don’t know how I survived having a roommate at Watford for so long. I almost murdered them. 

Elena Blythe was the single biggest thorn in my side there ever could be.

It didn’t help that they were the prettiest thorn too. 

I think it’s a familial thing. We Grimm’s just follow that roommate to lovers trope to the end. Even Dev and Niall got married a few years ago. They live in Greece.

It didn’t work like that for me. I broke the trend.

I got a broken heart and an invitation to Elena’s wedding a month after graduation. 

I went (Baz made me). I drank. A lot. 

Elena married Milton Owens. Milton. The blighter was the worst kid in our class. Couldn’t do any magic. He repelled magic. 

Fucking Elena.

I don’t know what had me thinking of them but I’m all up in arms from it. I sigh, long and loud, and make my way to the kitchen for some water. (And to look through Maggie’s fridge. I’m curious. What do park rangers eat? What do Shepherd’s eat?) You can learn a lot about a person from their fridge.

She has five different kinds of cheese in a drawer and a whole shelf of takeout containers.

I pull out one of the cheese wedges and snap off a small piece.

I check my phone again when I get back to the couch.

I tried sending a text to Penny while we were at the diner but she still hasn’t responded. I sent one to Baz and Simon, separately, and in the group chat. Neither has gotten back to me. Which is odd. They’re both quick to respond when I’m on a mission.

Especially Simon, who is perpetually convinced I’m going to end up in a ditch somewhere.

I don’t know where this ditch will be or why but, he’s sure it’ll happen.

I fall asleep thinking of ditches.

I wake up, not long after I’ve finally shut my eyes, to Simon Snow inches from my face.

* * *

**Baz**

“Get out of her face Snow. Crowley.” 

Mordelia’s eyes are so wide I think they’ll swallow her whole face up if they get any bigger.

“Breathe, Morbid,” Snow says. He puts a hand on her shoulder and she rattles out a breath and then sucks one back in, in quick succession.

Little Shepard comes into the room with a tray of coffee, milk, and sugar. She’s been much more accommodating and less talkative than her uncle and I like her already just for that.

I take a cup of coffee and dump a generous heap of sugar.

Mordelia is blinking at me like I might disappear if she closes her eyes slowly enough. 

Simon takes a cup from the tray and settles down on the arm of the chair I’m sitting in. 

“So, how’d you two meet?” Simon asks the little Shepard. 

Maggie doesn’t answer right away. She looks toward Mordelia for some sort of sign. But she’s still catching up. She must not have had much sleep. She’s usually quicker than this. 

“I found her dancing in the woods,” Maggie says.

I lift an eyebrow up in Mordelia’s direction. 

That finally pushes her into action.

“What are you doing here?” She says. Standing up and quirking one eyebrow at me in return.

“You didn’t ring us for two days. We were worried,” Snow says, defensively. He takes a sip of his coffee. “And we thought you might need us.” He looks at me and I rest an open hand on his knee. He’s so good. He’s too good for this world.

“How’d you even find me?” Mordelia has started pacing. She’s overreacting, I think.

“I used that, _needle in a haystack_ , spell you taught me,” Simon says. He was so proud of himself when he spoke the spell over the map and the needle, I bought them both at the airport, had moved quickly and precisely. 

Snow had literally whooped and pumped a fist in the air.

I’d smiled so wide and kissed him heartily when he stopped jumping around. I’d pulled him by the waist and bent him over the boot.

North Carolina wasn’t too bad so far. Mordelia was in a place called Asheville. We drove that way. Simon held my hand the whole drive.

“It worked,” Mordelia says to Simon. Forgetting her hang-ups about him and I being here in America for a moment.

“It did.” Snow is blushing.

Mordelia kisses his cheek and grabs her phone and starts tapping quickly.

“So, Maggie,” I say. “You were telling us how you met Mordelia.”


	5. Lemons

**Baz**

Mordelia won’t talk to me. She keeps leaving rooms as I enter them and she’s spent an exhausting amount of time on the phone.

She’s talking to her boss and colleagues about her assignment.

It hasn’t gone well, or so Maggie says. She doesn’t have many details besides that Mordelia was hoodwinked by a small group of mages she’s been trying to get a rain spell from.

I figure I could help. I’m persuasive and elegant. People just tell me things. Simon says it’s my eyes. He says I put people under my thrall. Vamperically. 

Vampires don’t do that. 

At least, I’m pretty sure they don’t. We’re a secretive lot.

I had to sign a contract in blood once, to get a vampire to tell me whether I’d age or not.

He couldn’t tell me. Not many kids get bitten and live to talk about it, let alone age. Apparently, I’m a marvel.

And I have aged. Bloody horribly.

I have these fucking laugh lines around my mouth, so embarrassing. I look permanently happy now or at least like I’ve spent a good amount of time being happy. That's all Snow's fault, I reckon. I’ve since grown a beard, to hide them. 

Snow had a fit when it started coming in properly. He pet my face for a full half-hour. 

He’s doing that now. 

We’re sat on the couch. I’ve given up following Mordelia around.

I’ve got a hand on his knee and he’s brushing a hand through my beard, scratching, it’s too good. My fangs descend a little.

Maggie has left. I think Simon was annoying the shit out of her. When he started scratching my neck and then my beard she got up and made a quick escape.

I like her.

I ask quietly whether we can replace our Shepherd with her and get a small swat.

Shepard never quietly does anything.

He’d be watching us intently now, asking whether my fangs are fully descended and if I can smell the notes in Simon’s blood. (I can always smell Simon’s blood.)

I lean in and kiss his cheek. Nuzzle into his neck. And take a long deep breath in. (Butter. Yum.)

“Stop. You’re in someone else’s home. Hold yourself together,” Mordelia says. “Jesus.”

She’s leaning against the wall, far away from the sofa we’re on and she’s finally put her phone away.

“Clothes are still on,” I say. Leaning back and out of Simon’s neck nook.

“Barely,” Simon says. He’s all flushed up and it makes me want to bite his cheek. (I always want to bite his cheeks.)

“Spill,” I say and gesture for Mordelia to take a seat.

She’s slow to comply but she does. There’s no use fighting it but she puts a good effort into it.

She flops into a chair across from us and puts a leg over the arm. Utterly casual. There’s pure panic in her shoulders though.

“Got fired.”

* * *

**Mordelia**

I say it so low that I hope they don’t hear me, but of course, they do. Baz has creepy good hearing and Simon can read lips surprisingly well.

Simon is pulling me into a hug before I register him moving.

“But, why? You’re so good,” he says.

I nod because I know I am, and I’m honestly in a whole pile of shock. I’m buried under it.

“I guess the group of mages here complained about my methods and offered to give the department the spell if they fired me.”

Baz is muttering viscous things from the sofa. Simon is rubbing my back a little too vigorously. I’m still in shock.

I’ve been with the department since I graduated from Watford. I started there as an intern. I’ve grown up there. It’s all I know.

I feel...betrayed. I knew Ernie was a scumbag but I didn’t realize how little I was worth. One rain spell. One. I’m worth at least three, I think.

I'm barely holding my panic at bay. I watch it come at me slowly, like waves from ashore.

* * *

**Maggie**

They're having what appears to be an intimate family moment in my living room and I’m at a loss as to how to intervene. 

I’d like them to leave but I think Mordelia just said she got fired and I’m heartless but not unfeeling. I can’t kick them out now.

I go to the kitchen and make coffee.

When I walk in with the tray, Simon is back sitting by Baz and Mordelia looks far off. Barely tethered here. I set the tray down and hand her a cup. 

She smiles a little at me. (Still here, I guess.) 

To my horror, I smile back at her. When did her smile, get me to smile? I turn away quickly and set the tray down in front of Simon and Baz. I take my own cup and retreat back. 

Baz pours nearly all the sugar into his cup.

Simon drinks his black. (Me too.)

Mordelia pours all the cream into hers.

We all quietly drink.

“What’re we gonna do?” Simon finally asks. 

* * *

**Simon**

No one answers me. I don't expect them to. Baz did the American planning, and Morbid is practically comatose from the firing. Maggie is no better, she looks like she might vomit. 

It’s on me, I guess, to come up with the next plan.

But I’m not great at planning really, I’m better at action. 

So that’s what I do. I act.  
  



	6. The plan

**Maggie**

I’m driving down a long winding road to nowhere and internally questioning all my decisions that led me here.

I’ve got a mage, a vampire, and a Simon in my car. It sounds like the beginnings of a bad joke or a dream. I blink really hard and pinch myself discreetly, but it doesn’t do anything. (Still here. What joy.)

One second we were all sitting, drinking coffee, and the next Simon was up and yelling: “Onward,” or something equally as weird.

And Basil just set down his cup and followed him out the door. Mordelia too, but not before she wrapped a hand around my wrist and pulled me out the door with them.

I didn’t even take a jacket. I don’t know if I locked up my house. I just let this weird woman pull me out of my door and slide me into the driver's seat of my car.

And now, I’m fucking driving. (I don’t even know where too.) Simon and Mordelia keep giving me directions and I just keep following along. (The fuck is wrong with me.)

I know now that I should have just walked away from the naked women in the woods. 

My life will never be quiet again. (I must be nuts because that thought terrifies and thrills me all at once.)

...

Mordelia is sitting in the passenger seat and she’s fiddling with my phone and changing the music every half-second. Basil is reaching up from the back and trying to take over.

“Mordelia. Hand. It. Over,” Baz says.

“No. Passenger picks the music.”

“Then pick and stick. You keep flipping and I’m going to remove you from that seat,” Baz says it with venom but I can hear Simon trying to stifle a giggle behind me.

I intervene before there’s magic or blood in my car and I take the phone from Mordelia and place it in the cupholder between us.

“I’m driving. I pick the music,” I say. Mordelia reaches for the phone again but I slap her hand away and return mine to the wheel. All casual like.

There’s an audible sigh from the backseat. 

“Get over it, Pitch.”

Simon giggles again but tries to hide it with a cough and I almost miss my turn. 

“Here,” Mordelia shouts.

“I know!”

“You almost missed it.”

“I know that too.”

“Fine. Sassy.”

I don’t know why but my heart flutters when she says it. 

She’s smiling I think. I can just see her out of the corner of my eye and I realize with absolute horror that I’m smiling too. (Fuck.)

* * *

**Simon**

Maggie and Mordelia are flirting up a storm and it’s making me so happy. I feel light. Like air. My thoughts keep flying away from me.

I try to focus on the plan, to hold something in my head, but there’s really only four items:

  1. Drive to where mages are.

  2. Convince them to give us all their weather spells.

  3. Get Mordelia’s job back.

  4. Go home.




I think it’s pretty solid. 

I gave Baz the gist of the plan and he nodded along. He didn’t argue. But I’m also avoiding telling him the finer points or lack-thereof because I know he’ll dig and question the how of it, and I haven’t figured that out yet. 

I’m better at figuring that out in real-time.

So, I just keep my hand on his knee and try to project this calm, controlled thing. 

It must work because Baz is all blushing cheeks and big smiles. 

I kiss a cheek and an ear. He goes even redder.

* * *

**Baz**

Simon is so dopey and chuffed next to me that I try to settle the buzzing nerves I’ve got in my chest. 

I’ve learned that his “plans,” usually work, despite being messy and less polished than mine.

To comfort myself, I formulate an escape route, just in case something goes sour.

But I always have one in mind. Always. No matter the circumstances I have a clear way out for us. Just in case.

Especially, because Simon attracts things.

He might not be the chosen one anymore but not all magical beings have an up to date communication system and some just like him.

We got attacked by Brownies at a farmers market once. And by attacked, I mean, they cleaned our shoes excessively and tried to come home with us. I found one in my trouser pocket later that night. 

It has always been like this for Snow. 

He just attracts magic. 

It floats to him. 

Funnels through him. 

Fairies and woodland animals would dress him in the morning if he’d let them.

Not for the first time do I think maybe that’s why I’m so stuck in his orbit.

He’s beautiful and magical and bright.

I turn and face him slightly. Angling my body and maneuvering my cramped legs.

It’s almost hard to look at him here. In this place. In this light as the day goes dark.

“I’m so lucky,” I whisper to him. “You’re an imbecile, but I’m so lucky.”

He giggles.

Aleister Crowley, I’m a twat. 

I hide my face in his neck.

* * *

**Simon**

I love him.

* * *

**Mordelia**

I'm trying to ignore the scene in the backseat because it’s nauseating but also sweet. I’m a sap.

I focus my attention on Maggie as she drives.


	7. Wings out

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey there, 
> 
> I just wanted to say sorry this is so delayed! I had plans to finish this by the end of March but with everything happening in the world I haven't been writing much. I'm back to it though and should have it done by the end of the week. I hope everyone is doing alright and this brings you some joy / relief. 
> 
> Stay safe.

* * *

**Simon**

I don’t know why I assume the mages here will listen to me. I mean sometimes I can pull out this air of authority. (Baz calls it my, “I’m going to shit myself face”.) Tomato, potato. 

I don’t want to have to pull out my wings. I try not to use them too often. I don’t want the power they hold to go to my head.

I used them on a professor once, so he’d let me take an exam again. I felt rotten for a month.

I think this might be different, I think I might have to use them this time. For Morbid.

The four of us are all lined up in front of Maggie’s car trying to negotiate with this group of 10 American mages and it is not going anywhere. 

One of them has a chainsaw and he keeps gesturing at us with it, like it’s an extension of himself. Another one, to his right is the "leader," Morbid said. She called him a cabbage head. It was brill.

But it appears, that Chainsaw is taking the lead here and it’s starting to feel very horror movie-like. Especially as Cabbage sneaks away and comes back with a few baseball bats and hands them out to everyone. 

I mean I know I’ll make it out alive because Baz is here. I’ve got the best villain on my side and he loves me and junk. But I really don’t want this to be a fight.

I’m really not much of a fighter anymore. I’m a de-escalator. I turn the heat down. I say things like: “I’m too flooded at the moment to discuss this. I’m going to take five minutes for myself and then come back.” 

Part of me hates it. I feel like a balloon that’s only partially full, but then I remember how much I used to pop and I realize that a partially full balloon leaves space inside me for other things.

So, in the effort of no fighting and because I want Morbid to have a job when we gets home; I let the gathered mages get a glimpse of my wings. When I stretch them out I feel a little like my old-self. Heroe-y and powerful.

It almost feels like going off. 

* * *

**Baz**

Simon’s a showman. 

You’d never know looking at him. On first glimpse he’s just this messy red-haired bloke, who always has grease stains on his t-shirts and doesn't brush his hair enough but he’s got this thing. I mean a lot of it is the wings but there is a seed of something else in his face that ignites too. Even now, it’s been decades since he’s gone off but there’s a residue of it left.

Maybe it’s his smile. … Fuck, it blows me down and I live with him. 

When people see him for the first time, all bright and winged, they occasionally faint. I tease him endlessly about it. He hates it. He gets all stroppy and won’t talk to me.

So when I see his back muscles tense while I’m arguing with a man holding a chainsaw I know what to expect. 

I slid a hand to my wand and cast _Nothing to see here,_ real stealthy, at Maggie and Mordelia because I’d like them to be half coherent. 

But not a moment later, Mordelia is gripping her bracelet and muttering counter spells at me. I try to ignore her.

Simon reaches for my hand, I squeeze his and then he flings his wings out. I think he’s holding his breath. I’m watching him, so I don’t see how the mages across from us react but Mordelia squeaks a little and I figure for a sound like that to come out of her, something has happened. I can’t tear my eyes from Simon's face though.

I just let the world go on as I watch him.

* * *

**Mordelia**

Snow’s wings are huge. I haven’t really seen them in years. He keeps them tucked up on his back and hidden. Penny developed a pocket for them like 10 years ago, a dimension for them to go to, so they could be here but not, more permanently. 

I mean from what I’ve heard, the droid spell worked, but it only lasted so long and because Simon can’t cast it himself it caused some general timing difficulties and resentments. "An utter mess," Baz said once. But the pocket dimension is just there. Forever. He doesn’t have to cast to open it, he just has to maneuver the wings in there.

I wonder what would happen if I climbed his back and took a look inside. What’s it look like in there? 

I pin the thought inside my head for later and I look back to the mages across from us, the one with the chainsaw is still standing but cabbage head has fainted and a woman is kneeling on the ground like she’s bowing down to Simon. It’s weird. American’s are weird. 

I look over at Maggie and she’s squinting at Simon. I don’t think she can see his wings. Baz’s spell is too powerful. I nudge her in the side with an elbow and she bats me away and continues to squint at Snow. 

Baz is looking at him too. I’m the only one not wrapped in his tail.

I shake my shoulders out and step forward, I put myself half in front of Snow. I’m trying to figure out the right words to say but when I open my mouth to let them out I start stammering something that I think might amount to please but could also be pudding. (I’m hungry.)

I mean, what do you say in these circumstances? I give myself a moment. No one is paying me much mind anyways. When I think I’ve rerouted my brain enough I just open my throat and let the words out: “We would like all of your weather spells, please. You will no longer be working with anyone but me. My name is Mordelia Grimm.” 

If I knew how quickly I’d be shown documents revealing all the weather spells the coven has cultivated over the last few centuries just because Simon took his wings out, I would have done this from the beginning. If I knew this would happen I would have taken him on all my missions. I just might now. (If I can get my job back. If I even want my job back.) 

Chainsaw guy takes us all to a small office with documents organized into filing cabinets. They are much more advanced than I was giving them credit for. The room is small but full of all kinds of spells I’ve never even heard of. It’s like being shown a treasure and told to take everything you want. (I don’t take everything and I teach them another spell, one that lets you float for a few minutes, because I’m too soft for this world.) Baz says as much to me when he realizes what I’m doing. I throw a glare his way and he just curls a lip at me and walks back to where Simon is answering questions or telling a story, he’s gesturing like he has a sword, so it could be either.

Maggie is there too. Her mouth is half open as she listens to Simon. She keeps reaching a hand out to touch his wings and then pulls it back at the last second. 

Somehow and I don’t know if it’s the general power of Simon Snow’s wings or the general power of his stories but we end up sitting at a long table eating some kind of meat and chatting with the chainsaw man and his family. Chainsaw is called Fred and if he keeps putting more food on Simon’s plate every time there’s space available we are never going to leave.

“I’ve never seen something like you before. Heard rumors, of course, but well, I never thought,” Fred says at one point.

Simon’s mouth is so full but he tries to smile up at him, his cheeks are too puffed out with potatoes and gravy, so it isn’t quite a smile.

“He’s one of a kind,” Baz says. I don’t think he means it to sound as sincere as he does though because the tips of his ears are going bright red. He’s got a plate of food that he’s been playing with and I’ve seen him strategically pop at least three blood candies while we’ve been sitting here. 

Fred whole-heartedly agrees about Simon. It makes Baz go even redder. I almost choke I'm laughing so hard.

Fred tries everything to get us to stay. He apologizes to me three times for my mistreatment and keeps asking if I need anything else.

We finally extricate ourselves nearly four hours later with three containers of biscuits and a promise to stop back if we’re ever in the area again.

We almost have to roll Simon into the car and I expect the gate not to open as we drive toward it but it does and then we’re speeding down a long road back toward somewhere with victory growing in our chests.


	8. Beginnings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's the end. :)

* * *

**Simon**

The biscuits were great. I ate them on the plane. 

I don’t think any of us had much of a plan but our flight wasn’t until later in the week so we had time. Mordelia tried to leave immediately. She was looking at flights on the drive back to Maggie’s. I don’t know what changed her mind. Baz and I found a hotel down the road and begged off. I offered for Morbid to come with us, to get her out of Maggie’s space but Baz kicked me in the shin and I stopped talking.

When we walked over in the morning Morbid wasn’t talking about leaving anymore, she was making breakfast and talking about a sweets shop she wanted to go to.

So, Maggie showed us around Asheville for a few days. I didn’t expect it and we didn’t have to ask her to do it. She just said she took a few days off work and she wouldn’t mind, “playing tour guide.”

We went kayaking down a river and ate pie. Baz is, as you can imagine, an incredible kayaker. I fell into the river twice. My center of gravity is skewed. The pie was pecan. It tasted like smoke.

It was calm. The last bit. A good holiday. I think the universe was paying us back for the last time. 

I don’t know. 

Does the universe ever pay anyone back? 

I feel like if anyone can answer that it’s you.

* * *

**Penny**

“That is absurd, Simon. The universe doesn’t play favorites,” I say.

He gives me a raised eyebrow, something he took from Baz years ago. I settle my legs up under me on the couch as I turn more toward him. 

“Also what even is the universe?” I ask. 

He shrugs. He’s got this tiny smile. It’s a good look on him. Contentment. It still surprises me to see it. I don’t think I’ll ever get used to seeing it there, especially when it moves across his face so easily.

“I can’t believe you all,” I say.

I give him another shove in the shoulder. I’ve been shoving him all night. When he opened the door, I hugged him and Baz and shoved them both across the kitchen. 

Shep had to hold me back from shoving them out a window.

“When I finally had reception I had hundreds of missed messages and calls,” I say. “All distress signals. Mordelia’s were weird, cryptic questions and Baz’s were the worst, all pleading and ‘Come help us,’ like you two can’t handle a battle on your own.”

“We don’t battle much anymore,” Simon says. “It wasn’t much of one, in the end, more of an adventure, really.”

I shake my head at that. Domestic Simon is so odd to me. He’s house-trained. 

“Speaking of, they’re late,” I say checking the time. Shep and Baz come back into the living room with three scotches. Baz hands the third to me and settles down on the arm of the sofa.

* * *

**Mordelia**

“If we don’t leave now we’re going to miss them. They’ve been there an hour already. Penny is not one to wait around,” I’m nearly screaming through the closed lav door. 

There’s no response from the other side. 

“Hello,” I say, giving the door a shoulder.

“Yes, yes, yes. I get it, but surely Penny and my uncle would like me to have clothes on rather than us be on time.”

When she opens the door, I throw a glare at her, but it basically bounces off and she steps in close to me. I expect her to wither a little at my intense staring, glaring, thing I have going but her lips just twitch a bit, her eyes crinkle up, and then she nods her head at me. 

Frankly it chafes a lot that she isn’t more affected by me.

“Well, sure, I guess,” I say as I stomp to the front door of my flat. I start lacing up my boots and I’ve got my jacket on when she comes out of the ensuite. 

“Alright?” I ask, into the collar of my coat.

“Yes.”

She slips her shoes on and pulls on her coat.

I don’t know what is wrong with me. I’ve been poking at her a lot today. I think it’s the coats. It must be. Her flight got in yesterday morning and when she came up to my flat she just put her coat on a hook next to mine. Didn’t ask or anything. Just did it. I stared at our coats, on hooks, next to each other, for a full two minutes before I realized she was already wandering around my rooms looking at things. I only left the coats alone because I realized a few of my more prized items needed explanations. I had a feeling my collection of oddities would need an explanation. I have some animal skulls. (She didn’t ask about them though. She just said: “Neat,” and moved on.)

When she finished her circuit of my tiny flat. We made tea, sat down and started chatting. The day flew away from us. We spoke nonsense words and stories at each other. It was one of those talks where you open yourself up a little bit and let the person look inside for a minute before shoring everything back up, just in case. 

It was a tentative thing.

See, I don't think I believed she’d come here. Honestly, I had not expected her to be here. Even when she texted me her flight information I was sure she’d flake. 

“I am not a flake,” she said when I told her that. “When I say I am going to do something, I do it. It’s already done in my head.” 

That sureness is entirely lost on me. I still don’t know what to do with the weather spells and it has been months. They're all in a box in a cupboard. I’ve been supposed to drop them at the Magical Archives and I keep ignoring calls about it. I haven't told them anything. I still haven’t asked for my job back. I've been living on some savings but it's getting dire.

I don’t think I can go back to that job though.

I tell Maggie as much, and she just nods along like she knows I can’t. (She’s beyond irritating.) 

“Well, what do you want to do then?” She asks, all reasonable-like.

“Well, I think I want to go out on my own. Be a private archivist. Open up a space for the public. Almost like a book shop for mages. … The department takes a year to fill most requests. It takes a year for most mages to be able to come into the office and be shown a spell they need. That’s too long. By the time they’re allowed to come look at the spell they’ve found something else or given up. That’s wrong.” I stop talking and drink the last drops of my tea.

I look at Maggie. I don’t want to take her all in at once so I’m just staring at her left shoulder. 

I guess that’s probably why I don’t realize she’s talking.

“Can I kiss you?” She says, I think for the third time.

“Alright,” I say. I am still looking at her left shoulder so I don’t realize she’s leaning in to kiss me until she does it and then it takes me a minute to start kissing her back. 

We kissed twice in Asheville but they felt like goodbyes. They were quick and shy, no time attached to them, not enough history in them, not enough conversations between our mouths.

But this, this has weight attached to it. We have months of texting flooding out of our fingers as we pull at each other to get closer and we have late-night calls sitting on our tongues. We have time. This feels like the start of something.

fin

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading. This was my first fic in a very long time so I really appreciate all the nice comments and stuff. Stay safe out there.
> 
> -Kat


End file.
